The Vincent Boys 02 - The Vincent Brothers

Yelling wouldn’t get me anywhere.
    “Beau is biologically mine, yes. But I didn’t raise him. I didn’t love his mother. Your uncle did. Not me. I do not see Beau as my son. My nephew, yes.”
    “But he is your son . His dad died when he was six years old. He’s needed a dad for twelve years now and you did nothing. Not once did you check on him. Not once did you tell him you were proud of him. Not once did you make his life easier.” I stopped as my voice got louder and louder.
    “Tell him I was proud of him? For what? Being a loser? Coming to football practice with a hangover? Hanging out in bars? What the hell was I supposed to be proud of? Huh? Please tell me that.”
    My hands balled into fist and I took a deep breath. I was so close to taking a swing at my own dad. “He was stuck with Aunt Honey who left him at home alone when he was just a kid. If he hadn’t lived in a trailer park where people deal drugs and God knows what else, maybe he would’ve known better. But he didn’t. He made mistakes. He had to learn things the hard way. He had to learn everything the hard way. Because YOU WEREN’T THERE,” I pointed my finger at my dad and snarled. “Beau straightened himself out. He got a football scholarship to the UNIVERSITY OF ALABAMA for crying out loud. He found a way to make money so he could buy himself a truck. He loves his mama and takes care of her even though she did nothing to earn his help. Why? Because he loves her. She’s all he has ever had. He made himself and what he made is one damn fine man. I am so proud to call him my brother I am bursting with it when I see him. And YOU, you did nothing. Not one damn thing to make him. Nothing,” I finished and turned to leave his office. I didn’t want to stay here. Not under this roof. Not with him.
    “You’re right,” my dad’s voice called out after me and I stopped and squeezed my eyes closed tightly before turning back around to look at him.
    “I wasn’t there. I let him figure it all out on his own. I was afraid of your mother finding out. I was afraid of this town finding out. I didn’t want to lose this life I’d built for myself. You’re wrong about one thing though. I did check on him. Why do you think you got away with sneaking out to go get him out of jams or going to stay with him when he was alone? Did you think you were just that good at being sneaky? You weren’t. When you left to go to him, I followed you. I watched you both. I watched as you fixed his problems, got him out of messes and stayed by his side when he was alone. I was always there. I was proud of you for being there for him when I wasn’t. I’m not proud of myself, Sawyer. I’ll live with this regret the rest of my life. Nevertheless, I am proud of Beau. He has turned into the man I always hoped he would be. He’s tougher than you because of the life he lived. He is harder around the edges but he’s a good boy.”
    My dad reached down and opened a drawer in his desk that he always kept locked and pulled out a large scrapbook and laid it on the desk. “Go ahead, take a look.”
    I walked over and opened the leather binding to see pictures of Beau as a baby. Pictures of the two of us in our football helmets when they were bigger than we were. Each page held memories of Beau’s life. Every article where he’d been mentioned in the paper had been carefully clipped and placed in the pages. After I turned the last page, I saw a picture of Beau in his practice gear standing on the field at Bryant-Denny stadium last week during practice. Lifting my eyes, I stared at my father and saw a man I didn’t know existed.
    “I went to both your practices last week. You both made me proud.”
    Shaking my head trying to take this all in, I sank down into the chair behind me. “Why don’t you reach out to him? If you have all this, you have to love him. You have to care about him. Why aren’t you doing something about it? He needs you too.”
    “He hates me and I don’t blame him,” Dad said, taking the binder and placing it back in the drawer.
    “Hell yeah, he hates you. You’re his father and he thinks you care nothing for him.”
    “You know Beau. Better than anyone. Do you really think he’d listen to me? That he’d forgive me?”
    “Dad, he doesn’t have to forgive you. He doesn’t have to like you. But he needs to know you love him. That you’re proud of him. All you have to do is tell him. How he handles it or takes it isn’t what’s